The Raven and the Rose
by Malakhim
Summary: As princess of Asturia, Hitomi’s single purpose in life was marriage. What happens when she finds love with a common stableboy at a time when only her marriage to a Zaibach prince can save her country from war? AU VH
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Raven and the Rose

Summary: To end the war that has ravished her country, the Asturian Princess Hitomi accepts the hand ofPrince Allen of the powerful Zaibach Empire. Things become interesting when the truce is broken, and Hitomi and the stable-boy Van are forced to flee, hotly pursued by Zaibach's assassins.

This is AU, but will feature all the main characters (long live Dilandau and the Hitomi/Van ship!).

Characters: Hitomi, Van, Merle, Dilandau, Folken, Dryden, Allen etc. etc. (everyone)

Pairing: Van/Hitomi (what else is there?)

Distribution: Just let me know where it goes and you can have it ;-D

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a toothbrush and a horse. You can have the toothbrush but not the horse so don't bother suing me. ;-)

* * *

Hitomi Kanzaki was sixteen years old, second heir to the throne of Asturia and in a fuming fit of rage. The heavy doors to the grand hall slammed shut with a resounding drum at her heels as she stomped down the hallway, anger causing a heated flush to rise in her cheeks and her emerald green eyes glimmered with a bright and angry sheen.

She did not hear the chorus of muffled voices that erupted in outraged cries behind her.

She heard onlythe rhythmic pounding of the heart in her chest, and only felt the murderous frustration that coursed through her like an all-devouring fire.

It was unbelievable.

She brushed some straying locks of red-brown hair out her eyes, and gathering up her skirts she quickened her pace.

It was unbelievable that her own father, whom she loved dearly, and her own brother, whom she loved less dearly, but who nonetheless remained her brother, should be capable of treating her in such an infamous manner!

Unbelivable, degrading, disgusting… and a lot of other adjectives she would not be able to think off before she was in a calmer state.

She huffed in frustration and had raised her foot to place it on the lowest grey stone-step of the winding stairway, when a familiar voice rang out from behind and caused her to pause in her furious flight.

'Hitomi!'

She turned around reluctantly, and slowly met her father's eyes as he came stalking towards her, the long cane he clutched in his right hand making the rhythm of his gait uneven. Hitomi drew a deep breath, knowing very well what came next.

It was not as if they had not been in this situation before.

'What do you mean by this?' her father enquired, hurt in his voice, and flinging out the hand that did not clutch the cane. 'What do you mean by charging off in this ungrateful manner?'

There was so much sincere disappointment and disbelief in her father's voice that Hitomi, as she had foreseen, felt her otherwise steely resolve crumble.

'Papa,' she said, her agitation evident in her voice. 'I know you mean well, papa, I know, and I never meant this as a slight on you.'

Her father's brown eyes softened slightly and Hitomi drew a deep breath. _Here goes everything_.

'But what you ask of me is impossible!'

'My dear girl!' her father exclaimed instantly. 'How can you speak so? After all I and your dear brother, Dryden, have done –'

'I know, papa, and never think me indifferent of the great kindness you have always shown me. As for Dryden, I believe him fully capable of enjoying this pantomime to the greatest extends, regardless of my answer.'

Her father shook his head. 'Hitomi, Hitomi, how you abuse your good brother's loving heart!'

'You will not make me feel guilty for my behaviour just now, papa. If I am to marry, it will be for love, because my heart commands it! I cannot marry Amano. I do not love him!'

'Chit-chat, my dear. _That_, you can always learn.'

'No, Papa. No. That is, was and always will be answer. I will not be sold like a horse on the market stand to a man I do not love.'

'Sold! Sold, indeed, as if I would ever sell my dearest and only daughter! No, I have very great faith in you being exceedingly happy with Count Amano and –'

Having no desire to hear anymore of what her father had to say on the matter, Hitomi spun on her heel, feeling tears of hurt and frustration well in her eyes.

'Hitomi.'

Once again her father's gentle voice caused her steps to falter but this time she did not turn around.

'I will not live forever, my child,' her father's voice said softly. 'Dryden will be a good king, he will see to you every comfort but what if Asturia falls? What if Dryden falls? Who then shall take care of my lovely daughter?'

Hitomi turned to face him.

'I only want your best, my child. If I could see you married and well before my time has gone I shall want nothing more.' He was silent for a moment before adding thoughtfully: 'Of course, an end to this interminable war would be a very positive thing indeed.'

Hitomi smiled slightly. 'Oh Papa!' she whispered and hugged him. 'I know you do. We all do. I, too, want a man to love, to trust, a man who will love me and take care of me in return. But I want to choose that man. I don't want him thrown at me, forced on me, even in the best of interests.'

Her father sighed. 'Very well then. If you will not repent then I must return alone and make best of what is left of the Count's goodwill. We need every ally in a time like this.'

Hitomi just smiled. 'Papa…'

'I know, I know,' he said briskly, turning laboriously and leaning heavily on the cane. 'No more shall be said on this topic.'

'By you at least,' Hitomi interjected. 'You can hardly promise for my 'good brother', whose undeniable satisfaction with events like this always seem to succeed your grief and my frustration.'

For a moment her father regarded her in silence and with a thoughtful frown on his face. Then he sighed again, and said: 'You are quite right. Dryden is a good son and he will be a good king but his equally good humour does betray him in matters like these.'

Without another word he made his back towards the grand hall, and Hitomi stood and watched him leave in wondrous silence.

It was the seventh time. The seventh time she had been paraded into the grand hall and presented before a young man she had never in her life laid eyes on before. The seventh time in her life she had been expected to marry without her consent, and six times had she spent crying in her room; sitting on the edge of her bed, watching the sun set and listening to her father's muffled pleas from behind the locked and bolted door.

Seven times and no more.

Hitomi had always believed in love. Her brother would say thather romantic tendencies were a by-product of all the sentimental mush she always buried her nose in. She would then throw said sentimental mush at his patronising face and yell that just because he had the emotional capacity of a dead cod, did not mean he should expect everybody to be as insensitive as himself.

Or something like that.

It was true though, she reflected, ascending the staircase and suddenly feeling lighter than before. She _was_ a romantic. She wanted to and believed herself capable of marrying for love, and living happily ever after; preferably in a little cottage with sheep and cows and horses. She smiled for herself as she pushed the door to her room open and stepped inside, casting a brief glance out of her window towards the misty horizon of jagged mountain tops.

Suddenly the sunlight streaming from the windows seemed much brighter than before.

* * *

'The east Coast has fallen to the Emperor, my Lord,' Balgus said sombrely as the old King sunk into his chair with a tired groan. The war general indicated the yellowing map that lay sprawled upon the table before them. 'They came from the mountains. There was no alarm, no warning. Men were slaughtered like animals, women and children taken as slaves. When our army arrived, the towns of Hytuira and Ares were deserted and the ash cold.'

'Only the Forest of Dreams separates the great imperial army and Asturia, my Lord,' the second general added. 'When the time comes, I fear that the citywalls will not stand long against such an onslaught.'

'Tairehn?' the old king muttered, the furrows on his brow deepening in worry.

'Gone,' Balgus stated curtly, anger evident in his voice. 'As are the rest of our allied towns. They run when the Empire comes, or pay their bloodied tax to get protection from the slaughtering army as it moves towards Asturia in an ever-deepening river of blood.'

The king sighed and rubbed his temples with fingers lined with age. 'How stands the funds, Medon?'

'Very ill,' the treasurer replied and shook his head with despondence. 'War is expensive, my Lord King, and Asturia's fortune was never great.'

'We are and always have been a people of peace, shepherds and breeders of horses,' Balgus said. 'I shall think no less of my countrymen for their lack of skill in war.'

'And yet,' the treasurer cut in. 'A lack of skill in war is a lamentable thing indeed when war is waging on your doorstep.'

Balgus rounded on him, his friendly face darkening in fury. 'And what of you, master Medon? Where is your bow and arrows, where is your horse and spear? I do not see you fighting for you country, or I should think higher of you!'

'Balgus!' the king barked hoarsely. 'None of this! We will not have quarrels amongst friends. Lords know we have quarrels enough with our enemies…'

Balgus lowered his bearded face and turned to the map. 'Pardon me, my Lord,' he muttered.

The King shifted slightly in his chair. 'So after so much death and destruction, so many young lives wasted, Asturia will fall…' he whispered, his eyes tracing the path drawn in red by the advancing imperial army. He looked up and met his general's gaze. 'What do you propose, my friend? What now for Asturia?'

Balgus sighed. 'Withdraw the army, my Lord. Seek a truce. This is a war we cannot win and there is nothing to gain by sending more young Asturians to their senseless death.'

The King quirked an eyebrow at him. 'Do I understand you, Master Balgus? You want to run?'

Balgus never flinched. 'Aye, my Lord. I do.'

The King just nodded. 'And what then? What future is there then for Asturia? Lost, in enemy hands -'

'But with most of its people still alive!' Balgus exclaimed with forceful exasperation. 'Send the rest of able-bodied men to their destruction and what future is there _then_?'

The King was silent and after a moment Medon added:

'You general Balgus is right, my Lord King. As long as the people of Asturia survive, Asturia shall live. Kill the people and the walls will remain but Asturia will be gone forever.'

The old King turned his inquisitive gaze on his treasurer but it was a new voice that answered.

'You speak well, Master Medon. Perhaps your talent does extend beyond counting your own gold-doubloons.' A young man with his brown hair drawn back in a messy ponytail and a pair of narrow rimmed glasses balanced on the rim of his nose stepped into the light of the lamp. 'May I speak, father?'

The King turned his eyes on his son and gave a small shrug. 'Dryden, my son, you have already done so, and I have known you long enough to be aware that whether I wish it or not you shall always speak your mind.'

A lazy grin spread across the younger man's face, and he stepped up beside Balgus, placing the tip of a long, slim finger on the map.

'Here,' he said. 'This is where we know the Emperor delivered his last assault. At Ares.'

'Yes, Lord Dryden,' Balgus said. 'We know.'

Dryden held up a hand to silence him and went on as though he had not been interrupted. 'From Lochbahn to Hytuira to Ares,' his pale finger traced the route as he spoke, tapping the spot where the name '_Ares'_ had been written in an elegant black hand.

The entire assembly watched him uncertainly as he straightened and regarded them all with a knowing grin. 'Why?' he asked. 'Why attack Ares? Who cares about a little fishing village? It is not our main source of import, there are no major routes passing through, no estates of significant wealth.' He crossed his arms and leant nonchalantly back against the table. 'In short, there is nothing in Ares to tempt an army of thousands apart from a nice diversion.'

Balgus' eyebrows rose in realisation. 'They are coming from the north.'

Dryden clicked his tongue. 'Exactly, Master Balgus, and if my assumptions are true… why, then they could easily be here by nightfall in three days time.'

The King looked his son with barely veiled pride.

'So, if you intend to seek a truce,' Dryden continued. 'I suggest you do it soon.' He turned to face his father. 'Let me ride out with Balgus and five good men, Father. We will meet the Imperial army, and I shall seek a truce on your behalf.'

For a moment the king sat silent and still.

Then he nodded.

Once.

* * *

The oil lamp spluttered and hissed behind the glass, the twitching flame causing the shadows to run along the walls in a spontaneous, irregular dance, blurred figures melting together and separating again before she had time to make them out.

Hitomi sat on her bed, her legs pulled back underneath her, her white nightdress falling lightly from her shoulders and her gaze transfixed upon the moving shadows.

'It'll only be four days,' Dryden said. 'I can probably get there in a day and a half on horseback. It's the politics that take up the time.'

Her brother stood slanting against the wall beside the closed door in his customary unaffected and nonchalant manner. His narrow-rimmed glasses balanced precariously on the bridge of his nose and his brown hair was pulled back in a deliberately messy pony-tail.

Hitomi looked at him for a moment.

'Why do you wear them?' she asked dully. 'The physicians say your eyesight is perfect.'

Dryden flashed a crooked grin at her, his eyes gleaming mischievously behind the sparkling pieces of glass. 'I know; boring old buggers the lot of them.'

Hitomi returned to staring at the shadows. After a moment in silence, Dryden's long coat ruffled noisily as he shifted his position slightly.

'Take care of Father while gone, 'kay, sis?'

Hitomi nodded. Her eyes hurt from staring at the shadows without blinking.

'Please come back again,' she whispered.

Dryden's familiar, barking laugh immediately flooded her room, but Hitomi wasn't hurt by this. She knew Dryden found it hard to handle the fact that people genuinely cared about him. His long legs allowed him to cross the room in two long strides but unlike the brothers in the books he neither kissed nor hugged her. Instead he reached out a hand and rumpled her hair, just like he knew she hated it.

'Stop it! You…you jerk!'

Grabbing a pillow Hitomi hurled it at her brother's grinning face with all the strength she could muster. He caught it easily and passed it back to her.

'Get out!' Hitomi yelled, aware that the effect would probably have been more profound had she not been laughing quite so much at the same time.

Dryden sunk down in a ridiculously low bow. 'As me lady desires it,' he said theatrically, withdrawing to the door where he paused for a moment with his hand on the doorknob. 'Goodnight,' he said. 'Sleep well, and may you dream pleasantly of all the young men in this world whose hearts you have yet to break –' He ducked as a pillow sailed over his head in an elegant curve.

'Try not to fall off your horse,' Hitomi said, smiling sweetly at him. He grimaced at her, pulling the door open and stepping into the dimly lit corridor. Just before the door slid shut he paused and poked his head into her room again. Hitomi held up another pillow in warning but he raised his palm in a submissive gesture.

'Oh, and sis? That Amano fellow was an idiot.'

'Thank you,' Hitomi said quietly, watching as the door slid shut, listening as the muffled rhythm of Dryden's footsteps soon faded behind the spluttering the lamp. And on the walls the shadows were still dancing.

* * *

I apologize for this slow opening chapter. I promise, promise, that everything will make more sense once I've established the situation. Who knows, Van might even make an entrance at some point! ;-)

For now, please review and let me know if you have ideas, suggestions, criticisms etc.!


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much to all who reviewed the previous chapter! It really means a lot to get such a positive response when starting a new story ;-)

* * *

Merle could still remember the first time she placed her wooden stool beside a cow. She had been six years old and the large, black, hairy beast had planted one cloven hoof straight on her foot. The nail had never grown back again, but at least her toe was no longer blushing in a vivid purple as though someone was strangling it.

Sometimes when she wriggled it, she could imagine that the hurt was still there; a sharp pain followed by a dull throbbing that seemed to reach all the way past her knee. It was a good pain, a pain she did not want to go away, ever. It was a reminder of times she never wanted to forget; a reminder of the first time she met Van.

He had come dashing into the cow stalls from the horse-stables when he heard her scream, all wild raven-hair, maroon eyes and a friendly voice. The golden specks of dust had fluttered and danced around him, caught in the spears of light that fell through the ill fitting rafters in the roof, shrouding him in their brazen glory. She had thought he was an angel sent to protect her now mother and father were gone.

With the noise she made, he had probably thought that she was being murdered.

Merle could remember how he squatted down beside her in the dirty straw, looked at her toe before scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the workers' infirmary, where the old doctor bandaged her foot while Van held her hand.

All the while, he had talked to her, reassured her and afterwards, he had carried her back to the milkmaids' quarters. He sat with her until she fell asleep.

One day she found a large black spider in her milk jug. Its legs were long, thick and black, and she thought it was disgusting, but Van had picked it up and placed it in the band of thick, untrimmed grass behind the stable. There had been a ladybird on one of the broad grass straws and Van had said that a spider was just a ladybird with ugly clothes on.

She still remembered feeling sorry for the spider.

Five summers passed, she remained a milk-maid in the King of Asturia's stables, Van remained a stable boy. Sometimes he would leave and be gone for days, sometimes even weeks, and Merle would worry, ponder where he went. But he always came home again, and never told her why he left. Then the war came and the Zaibach Empire invaded Asturia's borders; and Van remained at home.

Merle was glad. Over the years childish dependence had soon changed to friendly adoration and that in turn became something more.

Van did not know of course. She had never told him. Merle treasured their intense friendship and personal conversations too much to willingly risk jeopardising it.

As a stableboy, Van had his own quarters behind the haystalls, but Merle was just a milkmaid and her bunk stood in the dark corner of the musty room she shared with seven other girls.

Sometimes Van would let her sleep in his room. Then he would read to her, tell her stories of magical places far away, fairytales of knights and dragons to which she would listen, enchanted. Van knew all the letters and even taught her to spell her name, but the numbers she did not understand. Two was a little, ten was a lot and Merle saw no real reason to know more than that. She was paid five drumas a month; that was the fingers on one hand and all the numerical knowledge she needed.

Van disagreed; both were equally stubborn but Van possessed a little more tact than her and had in the end simply abandoned the topic.

'I'm not a philosopher or a scholar,' Merle had vented furiously, throwing the sticks she had been counting aside in disgust. 'I'm going to be milking cows until my hands fall off, so who's going to care whether I can count or not!'

Van had picked up the sticks, shrugged and been silent.

* * *

A party of five men rode off at dawn the next morning. The sun remained hidden behind the mountains, and a thick, wet fog had settled outside the city walls. A young man with unruly, raven-black hair stood leaning against the white stonewall, watching as the figures disappeared into the murky mist like ghosts melting into the grey misery of the early dawn. The cold dew that clung to the rough wall soaked his dirty red shirt but he did not seem to care.

Somewhere the melancholic song of a bell sounded once, twice, again, and then fell silent, the echo resonating in the thick fog that clouded the city like a woollen rug. He sighed and rolled his shoulders, as if to loosen the tense muscles; then he turned around, head lowered with black locks of hair hanging before his face like a ragged curtain and with his gloved hands hanging indifferently down his sides. His pace was slow, his steps unhurried as he made his way back along the deserted cobbled streets. Once or twice a soldier would come hurrying towards him but he held his head low and each time they would pass without a word or a backward glance.

Some light was beginning to pry through the heavy blanket of fog in the east by the time he reached the stables behind the castle. Habit carved the path his feet followed and he paused beside a wooden stall, leaning silently against the wooden door.

A girl was sitting spread-eagled on a small wooden stool beside a black cow's hindquarters. Her hands worked with the efficiency that came with years of practice, and her rebellious red hair was strung back into a tight ponytail.

'I wondered where you'd gone,' she said, not looking up.

In the other stalls, the rustling of straw when the cows moved mixed with the hushed voices of two milkmaids' conversation and the jangle of milk jugs. There were few horses in the king's stables now. Van remembered the time before the war; their numbers had seemed incessant then.

Each time they returned, more stables were left empty. It always made him seethe with anger. To think that they could win a war against the Emperor's artillery on horseback was madness, a madness reflected in their dwindling numbers and yet nobody had acted.

Until now.

'I think the Zaibach army is coming,' he began, his voice dull and absent-minded. 'Dryden and a group of others set off this morning.'

Her blue, near-feline eyes fixed on him, a thick lock of red hair shielding half of her face.'Ooh. How come?'

'I don't know.'

'Hrphm,' Merle snorted and returned her attention to her milking.

Van watched her work in silence for a while.

'D'You want a hand?' he said in the end, but Merle just chuckled from somewhere behind the smelly mass of black hair.

'You mean you actually know which end is the back? No thanks, I'll deal.'

'I'll quote you on that,' he warned but Merle was unaffected by the challenge.

'Do,' she just said.

* * *

Sometimes, at night, Merle would lay awake and feel alone. She would stare into the darkness above her, and the smell of cows would reach her nostrils from the aligning stalls. It was a familiar smell, so much so that she hardly noticed it anymore.

The darkness did not bother her either. It cloaked her and shrouded her and she could hide in it. She could not remember why it was so important to hide, but the deep shadows felt like home and safety and she preferred them to the nightmares.

Sometimes she would lay awake, blinking hard and re-enacting her and Van's conversations from the preceding day, just to defer the moment where her eyes closed and the dreams came.

The loneliness always gnawed relentlessly at her chest, drawing her ribcage tighter around her lungs, and she would scold herself for being so childish and selfish. She had Van, she would remind herself. He was all the family she needed, all the friends she needed and more than a brother could ever be. But all the hours she spent alone, without him there, talking, laughing, being irritable… all those hours were empty and lonely. The other milkmaids avoided her, and she heard them whisper about her in the cow-stalls as she passed. She would rank her bank and raise her head in defiance and stroll past them, her face a stoic mask to prevent the tears from falling.

The war was raging in its seventh month, and every day Merle woke to the terrifying prospect that Van had been sent with the army beyond the city walls and away from Asturia, perhaps forever. And every morning she would run to his room and find him there, the relief that flooded her never dulled, and she would fling her arms around him and cling to him until he pried her off, usually smiling, and handed her some of his breakfast.

That was the routine, and it had never changed until that morning. She had run to his room for only to find it empty, and in that short moment Merle's world had come crashing down around her ears. Frozen, she had stood in the doorway, staring into the small room with unseeing eyes, as a block of ice cemented itself in her stomach and chest, choking her.

A couple of milkmaids passed her, giggling and with their milk jugs jangling noisily, but Merle neither heard nor saw them. It was not before the stable master, Aston, had delivered a stinging blow to the side of her face that she snapped out of her stupor, staggering back to the milkmaids' quarters for her stool.

When Van had appeared at the cow stall Merle had wanted to laugh, fling herself at him and never let him go again. She didn't, but remained sitting, shielding her face as she milked. She was fully aware of the blazing handprint the Stable master's blow had left on her cheek, and she was also quite certain as to how Van would react should he see it.

His protectiveness touched her, she savoured it and loved him for it, but she did not want him to get in trouble with a man the size of Aston because of her.

Not again.

So Merle milked her cowand did not look up.

* * *

Oh, I love my characters, can't you tell? ;-)

Well, I intend to bring them together in the next chapter, and I should have it out in a couple of days. So in the meantime, please review and let me know what you think! I can live with criticism, just please don't flame me needlessly...


	3. Chapter 3

When Hitomi woke, the ragged horizon of distant mountain ranges lay shrouded in heavy, grey mist and a strange chill unusual for a morning in early spring seemed to cling to the stonewalls and the air that sifted into her room through the open window. Digging her face into her pillow and screwing her eyes shut, she tried to prevent the realisation that Dryden would already be on his way towards the Zaibach army from entering her mind.

She failed, of course.

Flinging the sheets aside and shivering as her bare feet made contact with the cold floor, she ran across the room and leant out of her window. She could see the stables from her room, and Dryden's remarkable grey stallion was gone, leaving the small courtyard strangely desolate and deserted in the faint, bleak light. Beyond the city walls, the dark green carpet of forest ran towards the horizon and disappeared into the mist. Hitomi's own breath danced briefly like a cloud of grey spectres before her face before melting into nothingness.

Hugging herself to prevent her skin from being too shocked by the sudden chilliness of the early dawn, she turned from the window and crossed the floor while a cold weight settled somewhere around her navel, gnawing relentlessly at her insides. It was foolish really, she thought furiously, pulling open the drawers in her wardrobe. Dryden had left simply to seek a truce. There would be no fighting, no killing, no dying.

So why was she so scared?

She stared with disdain at the white and soft blue dress that hung still and lifeless in closet. She hated it. She hated the frills, the smell, what it represented. Digging into the bottom of her wardrobe she produced an old, weathered shirt that had once belonged to her brother and a pair of worn leather breeches; throwing them aside she lay down on the floor, pressing her ear to the wooden bottom of the cupboard. Voices rose muffled and yet surprisingly distinct from the throne room below. Hitomi could make out her father's voice, tired and frustrated as he spoke with his advisers and Dryden's unparalleled favourite, Medon the Money Pincher.

War.

It was always about war now.

Sighing and feeling the block of ice sink further down into her stomach Hitomi sat up, brushing the hair from her eyes. She needed some air.

* * *

A soft drizzle fell from the leaden sky as Hitomi crossed the courtyard. The uneven cobblestones underneath her feet became slippery with water, and she had to watch her steps carefully. Once or twice she slipped when the people scurrying past her brushed her shoulders; they all had their own private errand to run, and nobody paid her any heed. Clad in a man's shirt, leather breeches and with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail Hitomi doubted they would have recognised her even if they had raised their eyes to her face for more than a split of a second.

But it was wartime and everybody was worried. Everybody feared for someone.

The white doves that could usually be seen darting here and there across the square, lingering by the bread-seller in hope of fallen crumbs, were gone; only a single white feather came drifting downward, borne on the shadowy presence of a faint breeze. Hitomi watched it descend, turning, circling in the air until she reached out her hand and caught it softly in the hollow of her palm. Its touch was light and delicate, the tiny hairs near the bottom of the spine tickling her skin, and she smiled slightly.

It was a couple of hours after sunrise and still a dull, colourless greyness lingered between the thatched houses. Hitomi strolled aimlessly along the streets, feeling the incessant drizzle of rain slowly pasting the hair to the base of her skull and causing the shirt to cling to her shoulders in a rather uncomfortable manner.

Soon, even the slow, softly falling rain had soaked her shirt and drenched, Hitomi decided to return to the castle to enquire after her father and news of Dryden.

She had just entered the courtyard when the roar of furious men erupted from the stable-yard and Hitomi changed her course, rounding the corner of greying marble-stone until the yard spread open before her. To her right, along the cow-stalls, milkmaids were grouping together, shawls drawn around their heads and shoulders to protect against the wind and sleet, milk jugs hanging limply and forgotten from their hands. Hitomi followed the turn of their pale faces to the form of a young man, who was just then pushing himself back onto his feet as though he had been tossed across the yard like a rag doll.

A heavy-looking man with sloping shoulders and a bearded face shadowed with rage was approaching him with long, tense strides. The young man spun around, his closed fist meeting the jaw of the larger man, who had not expected such an attack and did nothing to avert it.

The blow was strong, and Hitomi watched in shock as the man barely even flinched, his pained grunt swiftly morphing into a raging bellow, and his strong arm came down and struck the side of the boy's face like a sledgehammer.

'Know your place, boy!' he thundered, advancing still further as the blow caused the young man to stagger backwards, a hand raised instinctively to his split eye-brow. Another blow to the side of his face almost sent him to his knees. 'Or I will string you up like the useless bastard you are!'

There was a scream from one of the milkmaids, and then a small, slim girl came scurrying across the yard, flinging her tiny figure in between the man and his victim her arms spread wide and her blue eyes sparkling ferociously. 'Don't hurt Van!' she yelled, tears trailing down her cheek where Hitomi with disgust saw the distinct imprint of a large hand painted in reddened hues.

It seemed the boy wasn't alone in receiving this treatment.

'Keep out of this, wench,' the man snarled and raised his hand again but Hitomi had seen enough. She strode purposely into the courtyard, her head held high and the rain forgotten.

'Stop that this instant!' she cried with the innate authority that came with having her orders obeyed since she was four years old.

The man shot her a disgusted look. 'Mind your own business, lil' lady,' he sneered, taking in her soaked, dishevelled appearance. 'Ain't no customers to be had here, so better be on your way.'

He thought she was harlot, Hitomi realised with a jolt and almost froze in her path.

But then fury erupted in her chest, flaring to burning life and reaching into every pore of her being; rather than slap the man or yell at him, she merely thrust her hand forward, the silver band of Asturia sparkling brightly from her index finger.

The man blanched, and a hollow, gurgling sound came from his throat.

'Pr – princess Hitomi!' he stuttered.

'Don't,' she warned. 'Don't even try. You disgust me! If you feel such an intense desire to punch somebody then enlist, join the army, do something for your country. Lords know you need the exercise!'

The man opened and closed his mouth in shock, looking like a huge, fat, deep-sea fish left gasping on land.

The blue-eyed girl stared incredulously from Hitomi to the ring and back to Hitomi again. Behind her, the young man straightened and fixed Hitomi with an intense stare in his dark, maroon eyes, half-shielded under an unruly mane of raven black hair. He took the girl's hand and tugged gently at her. 'Come on, Merle,' he muttered.

'Wait,' Hitomi called after them. The young man paused, and shot her a doubtful and uncertain glance, confusion creasing his brow. The young milkmaid still clung to his arm, practically leaning against him, and her mistrustful blue eyes cut into Hitomi as she met their icy glare. Every feature in the young girl's face was distorted and hardened by a protective hatred that felt too old for her smooth skin.

'Follow me,' Hitomi muttered, but neither the young man nor the milkmaid moved.

'Where are you taking us?' There was uncertainty, mistrust and a faint shadow of fear in the young man's eyes.

'She's soaked,' Hitomi answered awkwardly, pointing to the young girl. The rain was gaining in intensity, hammering loudly against the cobble-stones, and Hitomi almost had to shout to be heard above the noise. The large droplets lashed against her cheeks and forehead like tiny arrow-heads of spiked ice. 'She needs to change.'

'They'll dry,' came the monotonous reply.

'Yes, and she will get a cold,' Hitomi said, irritation creeping into her voice. The young man blinked uncertainly at her. The milkmaid was silent. Hitomi sighed. 'Besides,' she said, 'anybody would get a concussion from something like that... Just let me help you.'

His jaw tightened visibly. 'We don't want your charity.'

Hitomi felt her patience snap. 'No, but you might just need it, so stuff that hurt manly pride, okay!'

He blinked at her, like an owl that had been sitting long in the dark when the light was suddenly turned on.

Then his eyes hardened, and his grip on the girl's hand tightened visibly. 'No thanks,' he said stiffly and turned around, dragging the milkmaid with him back towards the stables.

Hitomi watched him leave, hurt, bemused and frustrated.

What just happened?

Neither the milkmaids still watching in tense silence from the long row of cow-stalls nor the stunned stable master seemed capable of answering that question.

* * *

Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! I had never thought the response to this story would be so big and so positive, so thank you all. :-D

Now to the apologetic part: I'm sorry about the length of this chapter. I did originally have a long sequence to follow this, but by long, I mean looooooong. In the end the chapter was pushing 4500 words and I had to cut it. Of course, the good news are that I managed to get this out rather quickly. So please review, and I'll try to get the next chapter out in a couple of days. :-)


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